When, several years ago, I chose the pseudonym of Strix
(mean- ing, as you all know, a screech-owl) in which to cloak the identity of Janus's stand-in, I did not foresee that my private life would one day be dislocated by a real, live Strix. This creature—known to science as Strix aluco, to the rest of us as a tawny owl and to the children, not very suitably, as Pretty Boy—has now been with me for about two months. It was found in a beech wood behind the house, having presumably fallen out of its nest. It was then a bit larger than a cricket-ball, covered with white down and excessively ugly ; it is now full-grown and remarkably handsome. It has been at liberty ever since it could fly, and it spends its days in the woods. It has so far never failed to turn up when I go and whistle for it in the evening, but it only comes down to the house at last light, screeching quietly but exigently for a bit of rabbit or whatever is going. It seems to like society, has no objection to electric light and plays vaguely about on my desk or sits on the back of a chair in the drawing-room with an air of great composure. I suppose its self-confidence is due to its having so few natural enemies. It ignores the dogs (who dislike it a good deal), but it hates the cat— unlike a magpie I had last year, who was very fond of the cat, and used to pull its tail with impunity. I must say I rather like this owl, and will be sorry when it goes away.
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